


This Heart's On Fire

by rivers_bend



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Married Sex, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which there are nipple rings and also waffles</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Heart's On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> **The Obvious** : I do not know any of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story, and neither believe nor mean to imply any of this ever happened.
> 
> once again a PWP AU where Frank and Gerard are married to each other.

It's two, maybe three in the morning and Gerard's not sure when he last slept, but he's got a notebook full of words and sketches and snatches of music, and he's pretty sure he can survive on the high of album ideas for another few hours before he crashes. He's contemplating another pot of coffee when his phone cranks out a guitar riff from the table next to him; he's between one thought an the next, so he thumbs open the text. It's a picture message, the thumbnail too small and too dark on the dimmed screen to see in the glow of his desk lamp. Spinning his chair so his back's to the light, he opens the picture full size, and _oh. Fuck_. Frank's up early, or even later than Gerard, three hours ahead back in Jersey because LA makes him itch if he stays here too long, and sometimes when a dude's gotta go he's gotta get the fuck gone, even when Gerard says _fuck the snow, let's go in the spring_. He's been away five weeks now, told Gerard yesterday he's had almost enough and he'll be home soon. 

If he's sending pictures like this he fucking better be, because Gerard does not want to have to fly to Jersey in fucking February.

It's a closeup of his fingers, which honestly would be enough for Gerard after this long without feeling them on his skin, but it's what Frank has pinched between them that's holding Gerard's gaze. The ring itself is little more than a glint in the flash, but his nipple (the left, based on the ink Gerard can see) is clear. The nipple he's tugging toward the camera like he's offering it up for Gerard to taste. There's no hint of the redness that still hadn't quite faded when he left, the piercings still too new then for Gerard to really play with. 

"Fuck," Gerard breathes, wrist coming up to press his own nipple through his sweatshirt.

"Fuck," he types. "This better be you telling me you have a plane ticket." 

There's a pause during which Gerard nearly crushes his phone in his grip and his other hand sneaks up under his shirt to trace a nipple with his fingertips, imagining what Frank's will feel like with their rings. "Ugh," he says. "Ugh. Frank, fucking answer me." 

Frank is notoriously bad at doing what he's told unless Gerard's telling him to please please fuck him right the fuck now, but apparently out there somewhere he's listening, because as soon as Gerard stops muttering to himself, he gets another text alert. "American LAX Monday 4:15pm." 

Gerard doesn't have a fucking clue what day it is, and it takes him way longer than it should to get his phone to tell him. He finally manages the right combination of buttons and discovers it's 4:58 on Monday morning. Yes. Fuck yes. Frank in under twelve hours. But maybe Gerard should fucking sleep, because he has plans. Plans that don't involve dozing off after the first orgasm. "YES!!!" he sends back to Frank, then, "i love you" and then, not even trying to figure out where the alarm on his phone is again, he texts Mikey—who, thanks to Pete Wentz, learned years ago to turn off his ringer if he doesn't want to be awakened in the middle of the night—"call me at two in the afternoon, PLEASE."

"Love you too. go to bed." Not from Mikey. 

Gerard is also not a big fan of being told what to do unless it's something he was already going to do anyway, but Frank's always been good at figuring out what that is, even when he's three thousand miles away. "Call me and let me tell you what I'm gonna do when I get there?" Gerard sends back.

There's another pause during which Gerard shoves most of the papers off the bed and climbs under the covers. His phone doesn't ring though; he just gets another text alert. "Love to but I've gotta get to the airport. You can jerk off thinking about how I'm going to fuck you while you chew on my tits." 

Airport. Right. Gerard isn't perverse enough that he wants to make Frank's mom listen to them have phone sex, but he can still pout a little bit if he wants to. Frank gives really good phone sex. 

Or, Gerard could open up that picture again and do as he's told, because he was so going to think about that exactly. 

When Gerard wakes up, his sleep pants are stiff with dried jizz and there's a bear sitting on his head. The bear is holding a giant cup of coffee and at least three cigarettes just out of reach and laughing. Gerard hates the bear. He doesn't see him that often, because Gerard's pretty good at arranging his life so he's never more than a few hours away from caffeine and nicotine, but sometimes when he sleeps he sleeps _hard_ , and the bear finds it hi-fucking-larious. 

"Gnnn f'koff," Gerard moans, digging his palms into his eyeballs through his eyelids. It doesn't really help with the bear, but it's usually pretty good for getting Frank to get up and put coffee on, hand Gerard a smoke. Except he's met with silence, because Frank isn't back yet. That was just a really good dream. A dream that would explain the jizz in his pants, because he's pretty sure he pushed them out of the way before jerking off last night and that he mopped himself up with a t-shirt after. And what the hell wet dreams, because he's not fifteen. 

"Gnnnn," he says again, because it makes him feel better. Better enough that he can roll to the edge of the bed and find his cigarettes. And oh. _Oh._ It wasn't totally a dream. Frank's coming home. 

Gerard fumbles up his phone and cigarettes and lighter in one hand as he sits up, managing somehow to not set anything alight but tobacco, even when his phone rings as he's trying to get a nicotine fix. An extreme closeup of Mikey's eyebrows, nose, and sunglasses stares up at him, accompanied by the bass line from _The Ghost of You_. 

"Mmm?" Gerard says, sucking smoke into his lungs like if he inhales the whole thing at once the bear might go away. 

"We've talked about how I'm not a wake-up service, right?" 

"Pfft," Gerard answers, sending smoke billowing around his head and then inhaling hard enough to make the tobacco crackle. 

"I've showed you how to use the alarm on your phone. More than once. And you have an alarm clock right next to your bed."

Gerard looks at his bedside table. He sees the shade of an anglepoise lamp struggling to surface from the teetering stacks of books, comics, sketchpads, scraps of paper and precariously placed mugs. There are a few visible pens, two water glasses, and the edge of something he thinks is the bottle of expensive lube he thought he'd lost, but he definitely doesn't see an alarm clock. 

"I don't think so," Gerard mumbles, admiring how smoke drifts out with his words, and wishing again that the bear would go away and give him his fucking coffee. "Need fucking coffee," he adds. Probably Mikey isn't going to appear with a cup, since they're not on the bus so Mikey’s probably far away, but sometimes he stops by in the afternoon, and he does know how much his brother loves coffee. 

"Frank's side of the bed, Gee. And I'm _definitely_ not your coffee boy. I'm only calling because Frank texted from Dallas to make sure you knew today was Monday." 

"Why does everyone think I don't know what day it is?" 

"Because we've met you. Get up. Shower. Wash your fucking sheets. Frank's nose still works." 

"I'm not like that anymore, Mikes." Gerard twists around to look at the sheets. He's totally washed them since Frank left. Probably. Once at least. "Go away. I need coffee." 

There are muffled sounds in the background like Mikey's having his phone wrestled away, and then Alicia says, "Mikey's cooking you guys dinner on Thursday. Seven okay?" 

"Is he bringing me coffee, though?"

"Great," Alicia says. "See you at seven. Give our love to Frankie." 

Frankie will make him coffee. When he gets back. Frankie loves him. Dropping his butt in one of the water glasses, Gerard pulls another cigarette out of the pack and fights off the bear so he can go make his own coffee. He's getting too old to stay up for two days straight, clearly. 

 

Coffee improves Gerard's everything immensely, and the shower—much as it pains him to admit it—finishes the job of banishing the bear back to his cave, and he has just enough time to throw the sheets in the laundry room and get a clean set on the bed before it's time to go get Frank at the airport. 

While Gerard sits clutching the steering wheel under the watchful eye of the traffic cops as Frank wrestles his suitcase into the back of the car, he fantasizes about perfect disguises that would allow him to swoop down on Frank at the baggage claim, scoop him up in one of those twirling dancing movie kisses without anyone recognizing them and tweeting reunion photos. Frank's done and jumping in the passenger seat before Gerard gets to the part where he remembers that would inevitably lead to him swinging Frank's feet too wildly and kicking someone. 

"Hi," Gerard says. 

Frank gives him his biggest grin and launches himself at Gerard's face. Before Gerard's gotten more than a taste of tongue and a quick grope of Frank's waist, the traffic cop is knocking on the driver's window, telling them to move on. Frank flips the guy off with both hands, but he does mostly move back to his seat so Gerard can pull out into the flow of traffic. "Think you could drive if I were blowing you?" Frank asks.

Gerard laughs. "It's fucking rush hour. Besides. You're gonna fuck me while I chew on your tits, right?" 

"Hell yes," Frank says with feeling, buckling in and kicking his feet up on the dash.

It takes forever to get home, not helped by the fact that every time they hit a red light Frank gropes Gerard's junk, or pulls up his shirt and asks if Gerard wants to touch. But finally they're turning into the driveway. "Mikey and Alicia send their love," Gerard says. 

"From their place, right?" Frank releases his seatbelt and flings the car door open. "I don't think they want to watch what I plan to do to you as soon as we get inside." 

They leave the suitcase; Gerard barely remembers to bring the keys. 

Apparently Frank's plan involves climbing Gerard like a monkey, knocking him into the hall table and then onto the Turkish foyer carpet, where he pulls Gerard on top of him and reacquaints his tongue with every part of Gerard's mouth he can reach. It feels so good to have him home, alive, and vital, and _Frank_ in Gerard's arms. 

Back in the day, they probably would have fucked on the carpet, but back in the day they didn't have a carpet that cost more than their first van, so before the making out gets to the ripping each other's clothes off stage, they pick themselves up off the floor. 

"I'm all gross from the plane," Frank says into Gerard's neck as they stumble their way toward the back of the house, neither of them wanting to let go. "And starving. Maybe you should get me food while I have a shower. 

"You can just fuck me all gross from the plane," Gerard tries, but he totally expects the disapproving look that gets him. "Or I could watch you shower." He's not sure how much food there is in the house. Frank is way better at grocery shopping. 

"Food," Frank insists, pushing Gerard toward the kitchen door. "Then you can watch me shower." 

Somehow there are a couple of multi-grain waffles left in the freezer, and Gerard toasts them, drumming his fingers on the counter, the table, the back of a chair while he waits, listening to the water turn on down the hall, splash against the tub, the way the sound changes as Frank gets in. "C'mon, c'mon," he mutters, peering into the slots, backing off a little as the heat hits his eyeballs. Good enough. He's tired of waiting. Jabbing at the pop-up button with one finger, he jerks open the fridge with the other hand, grabbing the jelly. Sugar and grains. That should give Frank the energy he needs for fucking. Speaking of which— 

Eyeing his discarded mug from before his airport run a little speculatively, Gerard scoops four or five spoons of sugar into it and splashes a couple inches of coffee on top, stirring it and tossing it back cold. He's not sure when he last ate, but they can order takeout after. Given enough caffeine, Gerard isn't nearly as reliant on actual food as Frank is.

Speaking of Frank, Frank is awesome, and has left the shower curtain open enough so Gerard can see him all wet and naked as soon as he gets to the bathroom door. Habit sends Gerard's eyes to the swallows above his hipbones first, but then he remembers Frank's nipples and the jewelry there that Gerard gets to touch now. "Hi," Gerard says again, because sometimes his boyfriend makes him stupidly speechless with how hot he is. 

That makes Frank smile, because he's a smug bastard, and then he spots the waffles. "Aaaah," he says, opening his mouth impossibly wide and shoving his face at the gap in the curtain. Gerard holds the waffle and jelly sandwich up so Frank can take a bite. 

"You're the best boyfriend _ever_ ," Frank says around his comically large mouthful. 

"I know." Gerard keeps the food in reach, watching the water pour over Frank's skin, and then sneaks in with his free hand to give one ring a gentle tug. 

"Gnugh," Frank says, swallowing. "Fuck. Clean enough." Snatching another bite from between Gerard's fingers, Frank spins to turn the water off. 

He takes the towel Gerard hands him, and waves off the last bite of waffle, so Gerard pops it into his own mouth. Syrup would have been better, but it's not bad. He bets it doesn't taste as good as Frank, though. Frank who's toweling off his hair, leaving his chest undefended against marauders. 

Darting between Frank's elbows, Gerard fastens his mouth around the ring in Frank's left tit. It makes Frank squawk in surprise, but Gerard just grabs his ribs and holds on, sucking a little, flicking the ring with his tongue. 

"Jesus, fuck, Gee. You— _fuck_ ," Frank gasps, dropping his towel and grabbing Gerard's hair in both hands, knees buckling when Gerard bites gently. "Bed," he says. "Now." 

Gerard would love to pick him up as-is, mouth never leaving Frank's skin, but he's feeling a little weak-kneed himself, and sex always goes better without concussions, so he lets him go and pulls him into their bedroom by the arm instead. As soon as he hits the bed though, Gerard's back on top of him, mouth on his other nipple this time, sucking rhythmically, ball of the ring feeling heavy on his tongue, teeth working gently at the flesh behind the jewelry, wanting to bite down hard the way he used to, but resisting, knowing from the sounds Frank makes and the tight grip on his hair that with his rings this is perfect. 

It's not beyond the realm of possibility that Gerard could do this forever. He's managed to take off his jacket and boots, but is otherwise fully dressed, and that doesn't even matter. Frank's dick is a hard line against Gerard's belly, shower water and precome soaking through his t-shirt, sticking it to his ribs, and Frank's skin is hot under Gerard's hands and against his face. "This is amazing," he says, but his mouth is full, so the words are a garbled mess. 

"Uh huh," Frank says, "Uh aaaah," and he's practically fucking wheezing, thrashing from side to side, knees digging into Gerard's hips where he's holding Frank down, hands grasping the sheets, Gerard's shirt, his hair and arms and any fucking thing he can reach, noises Gerard's never heard before filling his ears, and suddenly Gerard's pretty sure they aren't going to make it to fucking. Not this round, anyway. 

Gingerly, because Gerard's a little afraid Frank's going to fly apart if Gerard isn't holding him together, he lets one hand drift from Frank's shoulder to the nipple he's not sucking on, covers it with his palm. Frank's skin is burning up, his nipple even hotter, and Gerard squeezes a little with the meat of his hand before finding the tip with his thumb and pressing, rubbing to feel the steel under his skin. The sensation sends a sweet-sick lurch through Gerard's gut, a mix of so turned on and knowing how that ring got there, and he moans, sucking harder, pinching Frank's nipple between his middle finger and his thumb until he feels Frank's fingers digging into his back. 

"Sorry," he pulls back far enough to gasp, but Frank's hands fly to his head, grinding Gerard's mouth against his chest again. 

"Don't fucking— I'm gonna, _fuck_ , Gee, gonna make me come like that. Don't fucking stop." 

And okay. Good. That's good. Gerard can totally do that. Not do that. Not stopping. He can—

"Geeeee—" Frank actually shoves two fingers in Gerard's mouth to pry it open, and puts it back over his nipple. Sometimes bossy Frank is Gerard's favorite Frank. 

For a minute or so, Frank's movements remain uncoordinated, riding the fence between restless and frantic as Gerard sucks and bites and pinches and plays, but then he finds a groove, one hand clutching Gerard's wrist against his chest, the other a vise on the back of Gerard's neck, his hips rocking, rocking, thrusting against Gerard's belly, until he's a taut bow under Gerard's weight, grip bruising tight, making helpless sounds high against his palate, shaking as a wet spill seeps through Gerard's t-shirt. 

Frank collapses, a boneless starfish against the mattress, and Gerard makes the effort to release his nipples, let him come down, but he can't move off him quite yet, needs to know Frank's _here_. Not that Frank seems to mind. Once he can breathe again, he starts stroking Gerard's hair, down his back, _hmm_ ing quietly to himself. "Sorry," he murmurs when Gerard kisses the spot where the ink is darkest at the point his sternum meets his ribs. "Sorry." 

Propping his chin on Frank's chest, Gerard looks at him. Because, sorry for what? That was approximately the best thing to have happened to Gerard in months. He doesn't even have to say anything before Frank clarifies, "I didn't get to fuck you." 

"You flying back east in the morning?" Gerard knows the answer's no, but even if it were yes, he'd go with him.

"In the morning," Frank says, "I'm going to fuck you 'til neither of us can move." 

"Yes," Gerard says, because, _yes._

"In the mean time, I can give you a hand with that." Frank joggles his knee next to Gerard's dick where it's trapped in his jeans. Gerard is not going to argue. 

While Frank lies back and watches him—lazy fucker—Gerard strips off his clothes, careful not to trap his dick in his zipper, because he's done that before and it's a total boner killer. 

"C'mon, whip it out," Frank says, grin eating up half his face. "You've always gotta put on a show."

"That's not—" Never mind. It's not like Gerard can claim he doesn't like to show off. And besides. He's naked now, and Frank's propping pillows under his head like he wants Gerard to fuck his mouth, and yes, yes, _fuck yes_. That is way better than conversation. And Gerard doesn't say that too often. 

"You gonna let me blow you now?" Frank has a hand on Gerard's hip and the other wrapped around his junk, pulling him closer, even though Gerard's trying to get up the bed as fast as he can. Gerard's almost as scared of Frank's grip as he was his zipper, but in that way where it sends a thrill shooting through his gut and even more blood to his dick, not a way where he plans on backing off. "Yeah, you are," Frank murmurs, scootching down a little so he can get Gerard's cock in his mouth. 

"Yeah, I— _fuck_.” Gerard tries to agree, but it's been way too long and Frank is way too good at this, and Gerard can barely hold himself up, never mind talk. 

Frank has to do most of the work at first, slurping and bobbing and getting everything wet, but before he can start complaining that his neck hurts, Gerard gets it together and moves, curling over Frank's face so he can cup the back of his head, help him find the right angle. Frank catches his eye and goes soft, open, and just the look on his face is enough, forget the wet heat of his mouth, the pressure of his tongue, the fresh memory of him writhing and moaning as Gerard played with his tits. 

"Christ, Frankie. Jesus, fuck. You fucking—" Gerard can't stop babbling, jerking his hips, trying to keep the balance between too gentle and too rough and probably failing, but Frank's still looking at him like, _yeah, Gee, yeah,_ and his palms on Gerard's hips aren't pushing him away, so Gerard goes with it, fucking Frank's mouth and running his own, telling him all about how hot and perfect and gorgeous he is, how much Gerard's missed him, how he's never allowed to leave again and Gerard's going to keep him naked in bed forever, they don't need a new album. 

It hurts to come, a pull in his back and strain in his thighs, but it's the good kind of hurt like the ache from being well fucked, and Gerard twists his hips to feel a last twinge before he rolls off Frank and collapses next to him. 

"Gnnnnugh," Gerard says appreciatively if not particularly articulately. 

"Fucking missed that," Frank says , propping up on an elbow so he can grin down at Gerard. That puts him in the perfect position for Gerard to tip him into a full-body hug. 

"Fucking missed _you_ ," Gerard says into Frank's hair. They both hold on tight. 

After a couple of minutes, Frank wiggles to get more comfortable, tugging at the comforter to get a corner of it up over his shoulders before his head goes heavy on Gerard's chest. Gerard's pretty sure he hears, "Missed you too," but then they're both asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> bluesoaring gave me the plot bunny, and I'm also dedicating this to cee_m because I would give her the universe, but this is what I have to give.


End file.
